Meant to be broken
by Relie Diadamat
Summary: "They didn't know what that gesture would bring; they only knew what would happen next, once finished." [Modern!AU; slice of life]


**Nda:**

 **Hi guys! :)**

 **This is a one-shot that I wrote a long time ago.**

 **I translated it as best I could. I'm an Italian girl and I hope that my English is acceptable.**

 **Leave me a review for report me any mistakes. I hope u enjoy! :)**

 **MEANT TO BE BROKEN**

 _I had to make a choice that was not mine,_  
 _I had to say goodbye for the last time_

 _Shinedown_

"I'm not sure that's a good idea…"

Sunday morning. August. The sun had never been so fake in shine.

"It might not be the right thing to do." The woman dressed in pure white is tortured hands, leaving just rubbing the dress on the light parquet. "He might not be the right one ..." A pause, and its earth-moist eyes rested on her face, that while looking at her still.

"I'm afraid," she confessed. "What do you think I should do?"

The other woman was listening, smelling like a flower in her crimson dress. Her emerald eyes were dark, that day. On her back pool, a cascade of curls blacks covered her pale skin.

"Tell me something." Whispered the brunette in her wedding dress. "Everything".

Morgana swallowed her pride; her Freya was lovely in that dress simply, with those simple flowers in her hair. She was a perfect imperfection, painted by her own mistakes and her insecurity.

She reached for the dry face of the bride, covering her cheek with cold palm. Morgana had always been cold, a block of ice unable to warm up.

Freya flinched at the touch, though the Morgana's hands were familiar. She remained motionless in her place, on her white shoes with a heel just mentioned and lips covered by a lip gloss line.

They didn't know what that gesture would bring; they only knew what would happen next, once finished.

Morgana closed her eyes, pressing her dirty lipstick lips on those of women. Freya breathed her seductive smell, and her legs trembled like leaves.

In addition to time, also they slowed their lives.

Morgana was five years old and had many friends.

She liked to walk barefoot on the cool grass.

Freya was a lonely child, almost purposely avoided. She smiled at the head down, fiddling with wildflowers.

"You haven't even told me your name!" The little girl by blacks curls approached the timid Freya who, with her knees against her chest, seemed to defend themselves from the wind and from the world.

"My name is Freya," just said, raising a little look on her.

The little girl smiled sincere as her emerald eyes were lit up by the warm summer rays. "I have a toy that resembles you," uttered by being nearby. "It 'a winged panther."

Freya was silent, steadfast in its defensive position. Morgana looked at her for a while; she felt compassion for that little girl and for some reason unknown to her, feeling of wanting to know, to know more things about him.

"I bet you can't run like a cat," she teased.

The little girl from the damp earth eyes smiled for a brief moment then, she stood up from her seat, running along the park. A Morgana, who meanwhile plodded after her, she came to think that that little girl from resembling chestnut-colored hair really a winged panther.

Morgana was ten years old and hated strawberries.

Freya often read her chestnut hair in two braids hasty.

"I don't like them!", Complained the little girl wrinkling her nose. "They're rugged, they suck!"

The brunette laughed slightly, losing to the view of the lake. "Need sugar." The lips of the child was raised up in a shy smile. "With a little sweetness, everything becomes perfect."

Morgana alternated his gaze from the bitten strawberry serene expression of Freya. "I'm very sweet!" Decreed. "So I'm perfect."

"You're not sweet, Mor," she said this the other, looking at herself in the face. "... But you're perfect just the same."

Morgana was twelve years old and had just given the first kiss.

Freya is clothed insecurities of looking in the mirror, holding in her hands the dress lent to her by her friend. "It doesn't sit well me as you," she said.

Morgana shook her head, stopping to comb her hair. "If it's good to me, it'll be good for you." She positioned herself behind her back, taking strands of chestnut in her fingers. Freya smiled awkwardly. "Do you really think that?"

"Of course!" She gazed at her reflection in the mirror, for shining eyes. "My best friend is wonderful".

Morgana was fifteen years old and had just discovered to be jealous of her best friend.

Freya blossomed like a flower not win the cold and bad weather.

The girl wanted her all to herself, without sharing with anyone: she was only his

The first to tempt fate was a suburban kid: Gwaine.

Morgana didn't like the way he looked at her Freya, wasn't liking the way he tried to approach.

A fire had devoured the brain when they kissed. She had clenched fists and had bitten her lip.

The next day, after school, she had beaten Gwaine in the courtyard and threatened to not approach her Freya.

Morgana was seventeen.

When the Freya's chestnut hair came up to the lower back, Morgana had lost the candor with Leon, but she realized that she had reluctantly thought about Freya all the time.

Freya blushed again, but more rarely.

That night was Freya's seventeenth birthday. An intimate celebration, with few guests. She had left out on the porch to get some air. She sat on the swing, moonlit.

Morgana had followed her in silence, taking a seat next to her.

"How fast the time ..." Freya blew, swinging. "I'm afraid of lose the breath."

Morgana tried her hand, squeezing it tightly. "This will never happen."

Those dark eyes peered for a while, while her face was colored the milky light of the night. "It 's true that you broke up with Leon?"

The silence was consent.

"Why?" Shee asked again.

The stars were their roof, the black of the night their lair. The swing creaking, the only witness. Morgana took the face of her friend in her hands, kissing her fleetingly. When she felt Morgana's lips break away from her, Freya smiled crooked. "I'm so afraid of being out of breath, Morgana ..."

Morgana and Freya were twenty.

Uther had tried to separate them more than once.

They weren't lovers, they weren't girlfriends. After that kiss two years ago, under the stars, life was last in it ordinary routine as if nothing had happened that night on that swing creaking. Morgan had sent to hell with his father, staying with Freya in college. Morgana had sought a job with her friend, and always had been able to move forward together.

A year had passed.

Life in college seemed like a fairy tale. Everything flowed in the right direction until the tears bathed the pale, thin Freya's face .

Morgana had welcomed Freya in her arms, rocking her. "It's okay," she whispered.

"My father is dead ... dead." She sobbed, hidden in her neck. "I'll never see him again!"

Morgana held her tight, close to the heart, to make her understand in every possible way as the close she was.

Morgana was twenty-five years and had a lot of fear: her Freya had met a man, Merlin.

Often chatted on the bench, they read the same books.

Merlin was sweet, caring; He bought her roses after dinner and loved Freya with the innocence of a child. Morgana died.

She felt compelled to intervene, or that boy would take Freya away.

"Go away!" She shouted, red-faced. Freya was struggling to breathe, her hands compulsively touching her neck.

Morgana approached without fear, trying to touch her. "I had to do it, Freya. He wasn't the right man for you. "

"I loved him!" Freya shouted, his eyes full of tears. "You slept with him! I loved him and you have sex with him!"

Freya closed her eyes, feeling the Morgana's body behind her. The clasped in an embrace, her breasts against Freya back, whispering on the skin: "You'll be fine. Everything will be fine. I'll look after to you."

Twenty-seven years.

Morgana and Freya no longer speak.

The brunette had left college and studies, devoting herself to the family ranch.

Morgana had broken off all contact with the outside world. She lived in seclusion, delighting her days with her best friend: a bottle of Vodka.

Over time, Morgana began a sick relationship with a violent man: Valiant.

Valiant beat her often, then he promised never to do it again more ... and then beat her again: at night, in the daytime, when he pleased.

In moments of despair when lying on the ground with a black eye she tried to hold back tears, Morgana thought about Freya and how much she missed. "Come to get me", she prayed with the mind.

Two months later.

Freya had seen Morgana after so many years of silence. She seemed more tired, less bright ... Morgana didn't seem her.

It was enough to watch a single scratch on Morgana's face to stretch, instinctively, her arms toward her friend. "Fear not," Freya reassured Morgana trembled while weeping in her arms. "From now on, everything will be fine. I'll look after to you."

Twenty-seven years and they had learned to heal wounds, licking each other. One for the other.

Now, they were thirty and had just kissed for the second time. Still, a kiss without consequences, a kiss without noise.

Freya walked the aisle, Morgana watched her heartbroken while gave Freya to her husband. Morgana had loved her madly, without a reason. She was partook of her imperfections and her insecurities and now was about to go thirsty.

She was giving her daily bread to a man who could make her happy.

Morgana was saying goodbye for the thousandth time, but that day Morgana decided it would also be the last.


End file.
